The Secret Envelopes // Letterbombs
Title: The Secret Envelopes
Summary: Harry's writing lots and lots of letters this summer... Sixth year is over, Ginny still wants him; who could he possibly be writing to all this time?? HBP Compliant - but only when I want it to be! ;)
Chapter Summary: Harry's been writing so many letters lately... Finally, the end result is revealed - with a few twists along the way!
Rating: G
Genre(s): Humour/Parody, General
Warnings: Character Death, Spoilers, Under 18, Het
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Molly, Gred and Forge, Ron, Hermione, Voldemort, Other
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
A/N: What can I say? The silly little bunny bit me, and wouldn't let go. It started off with the envelopes, and went from there... For the Big, Important Plot Points that you don't understand/haven't been explained in this fic - there will be more! I just needed to get the "whole story" out there before I posted the rest of this (mini-)series. =)
Many thanks to my beta, the wonderful Cynthia (aka vivid_memory). ♥
Harry Potter walked into the kitchen at the Burrow early one morning clad in only his pyjama bottoms, scratching absently at his Quidditch-toned stomach, hair messier than usual. Ginny's breath caught in her throat as she stared at this beautiful vision, hardly noticing as she put her elbow into the butter dish and knocked the sugar bowl to the floor. He turned to face her then, frowning slightly, as she flushed a brilliant shade of pink and looked away, muttering something meaningless about cleaning up the mess. On the inside she was rejoicing; it was the first time he'd looked at her properly since they'd broken up at Dumbledore's funeral.
"Er, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked.
"Yes, Harry dear? What is it?"
"I was wondering… D'you think I could have some envelopes?"
"Of course, Harry, what sort did you have in mind?"
"Oh, er, those brown ones, I think," he answered distractedly. "No, well, the largest you've got, really."
"Here, will this do? How many d'you need?"
"Er…" He thought carefully for a moment before replying, "About 50, I should think."
"50!" she repeated, eyes widening in shock.
"Sure, Mum, Harry's got to keep up with all his fan mail, hasn't he?" said Fred, walking into the kitchen.
"Just think of all those poor ladies whose days he's brightening by sending them autographed pictures of his little old self," added George, pretending to swoon.
"Guys…" he said, embarrassed. Quickly Harry took the stack of envelopes and left, shaking his head at the twins' antics. He retreated to his room, where the lock turned and the silencing charms went up once again.
* * * * *
As the summer wore on, Harry's appearance worsened steadily: His hair became more tangled, his face was drawn and grey, and his once-sparkling emerald eyes seemed to be missing their old love of life. Hermione was getting terribly worried about him, and could often be heard talking to Mrs. Weasley in frantic whispers about what might be wrong with him. Invariably, Mrs. Weasley would soothe her with the idea that Harry was young and desperately in love, and staying up until all hours of the night to wait for replies from his beloved.
One night, as they ate supper in the garden as they usually did, Ron finally broached the subject, urged on by frequent hisses from Hermione.
"So, Harry, mate, er, who've you been writing to all this time?" he asked uncomfortably. "We've hardly seen you this summer."
"Oh, just a few people here and there. Nobody important, really," he said airily, "it's only-"
"Harry, we're worried about you!" interjected Hermione. "Can't you just tell us what you've been up to?"
Something flared in his eyes for just a moment, longing perhaps, and died almost too fast for them to see. It was replaced by a weary resignation as his lips thinned, tension etched into every line of his still form.
"Hermione, I appreciate that you’re concerned for me," he said quietly, "but it's really none of your business."
Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close as she stared at the ground, downcast. "Harry, you know we're here for you, right? If there's anything you need to talk about, mate, we can help you…" he trailed off, waiting apprehensively for Harry's reaction.
"I know, mate, but it's really nothing," he said, running a hand through his hair tiredly. "I just haven't been getting enough sleep, I think. If you don't mind, I'll be going up to bed now."
He excused himself and left without a backward glance, knowing that his two best friends were discussing him in desperate whispers.
* * * * *
It was near dawn a week later, and Hermione and the Weasleys were gathered in the dark kitchen. They had been there for most of the night; the peace was disturbed at intervals by horrible, blood-curdling screams and a terrible smell of ash and sulphur mixed in the breeze drifting through the open windows. Unable to sleep they had come together by common consent, none but one willing to be alone with their unnamed fears.
Harry would not be persuaded to join them, but they could hear his heavy steps pacing 'round and 'round his room. As they'd tiptoed carefully past his door on their way downstairs they'd heard him muttering to himself; senseless words too low for them to understand.
As the stars began to wink out and the first rays of sunlight were seen, there came the biggest explosion any of them had ever heard. They stared out the windows, transfixed, as the distant sky turned a blazing, emerald green and a black cloud spread darkly across the horizon. Behind them they heard footsteps crashing down the stairs, and turned just in time to see Harry hurtle into the kitchen, looking about wildly.
Eyes glittering feverishly, he dashed across the room to Ginny, crushing his lips to hers before she could object. They stood locked in their passionate embrace for what felt like ages, breaking apart only once the twins had recovered sufficiently from the shock to whistle at them.
"Harry, what-" she gasped breathlessly.
"It's over, Gin, we're free, I've done it. Oh! It's over!" he said in a rush; and promptly fainted.
* * * * *
He came to in the stark whiteness of a room at St Mungo's, surrounded by the Weasleys and half the Order. Hermione flung herself on him as soon as he'd opened his eyes. "Oh, Harry!"
"Good to see you too, 'Mione. Here, help me sit up a bit," he said, laughing.
"Gave us all a scare, you did," came Kingsley's deep voice. "What did you do, wearing yourself out like that, Potter?"
He grinned. "You all remember that explosion this morning? Well, I guess it was this morning - how long was I out?"
"Yeah, this morning. You weren't out long, mate, but the Healers said you've almost exhausted your magic," said Ron, the question evident in his voice.
"Right, well, that explosion was Voldemort and all his Death Eaters being destroyed once and for all," Harry said proudly.
"WHAT?!" An excited babble broke out in the room, as everyone tried to make themselves heard at once.
"Harry, dear, how did you ever do it?" cried Mrs Weasley.
He looked around conspiratorially, eyes sparkling. "All those envelopes you gave me? A few AKs, and I sent them off to dear old Tom and his pals," he said, grinning impishly. "Snape let me know where they were and how to get my, er, letters through the wards, and, well, you know the rest," he concluded modestly.
"It can't have been that easy, can it, Harry? I mean, really-"
"You're right, 'Mione - It wasn't!"
They laughed happily; Harry's good humour was infectious.
"Wait, all the Death Eaters? Does that mean you got the greasy git, too?" asked Ron excitedly.
"Ronald!"
"An admirable sentiment, Mr. Weasley, though I regret I must inform you that I am, in fact, very much alive," came the cold, baritone drawl from the doorway where Snape stood, looking highly discomfited at being part of the gathering.
"Uncle Sev! Oh, don't ask," he added quickly, waving aside the shocked exclamations. "It's a long story."
"Congratulations, you foolish boy," Snape said fondly, ruffling Harry's messy locks. "You did it."
"You doubted I would?" he asked, pretending to be hurt. "You know how long I've been planning this. All that hate mail I've gotten," he explained, turning to the others, "put the idea into my head."
"Er, what?"
He smirked. "A mail-order curse! Okay, so I had to do it myself… but you get the idea."
Eyes shining, Ginny leaned over and kissed him fiercely. "I love you, Harry Potter."
"Gin?" He waved his hand at the clothes lying over the chair, and a small box flew into his hand.
"Yeah?"
"Marry me," he said, flipping open the lid. "Now Voldemort's gone, there's no reason we can't-"
"Shut up, Harry," she said, and kissed him again as he slid the diamond onto her finger.
"Isn't that sweet…"
"…our wee Harry…"
"…is all grown up!" chorused the twins, grinning.
Harry looked around; even Snape was smiling, a rare thing, showing his approval.
"Alright, show's over. Can I get out of here yet?!"
* * * * *
The headline of the next day's Daily Prophet was screaming for the arrest of…
"'…an unknown person or persons, for very inappropriate use of the owl mailing system, and of several Unforgivable Curses,' said Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge early yesterday morning. Minister Fudge denied reports that the Dark Mark was seen over the site of the explosion in Little Hangleton, and warns the public to be on the lookout for You-Know-Who and his followers. A source close to the Ministry confirmed rumours that the bodies were burnt and tortured beyond recognition. These bodies are rumoured to be those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Death Eaters; no one has yet commented on this. You-Know-Who was…
"Well, it's the usual drivel after that," said Harry, folding the paper he'd been reading from.
"And they don't know who did it?" grinned Hermione.
"D'you think we should tell them?" asked Ron, smirking.
Ginny just smiled up at him, squeezing his hand lightly.
"Nah," said Harry, fighting to keep a straight face, "I don't think we will."
"Don't worry about it, dear," said Mrs. Weasley absently, bustling around the kitchen. "I'm sure they'll figure it out, some day."
They burst out laughing as Harry threw the paper in the bin before they all began to help Mrs. Weasley with breakfast.
Summary: Harry's writing lots and lots of letters this summer... Sixth year is over, Ginny still wants him; who could he possibly be writing to all this time?? HBP Compliant - but only when I want it to be! ;)
Chapter Summary: Harry's been writing so many letters lately... Finally, the end result is revealed - with a few twists along the way!
Rating: G
Genre(s): Humour/Parody, General
Warnings: Character Death, Spoilers, Under 18, Het
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Molly, Gred and Forge, Ron, Hermione, Voldemort, Other
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
A/N: What can I say? The silly little bunny bit me, and wouldn't let go. It started off with the envelopes, and went from there... For the Big, Important Plot Points that you don't understand/haven't been explained in this fic - there will be more! I just needed to get the "whole story" out there before I posted the rest of this (mini-)series. =)
Many thanks to my beta, the wonderful Cynthia (aka vivid_memory). ♥
Harry Potter walked into the kitchen at the Burrow early one morning clad in only his pyjama bottoms, scratching absently at his Quidditch-toned stomach, hair messier than usual. Ginny's breath caught in her throat as she stared at this beautiful vision, hardly noticing as she put her elbow into the butter dish and knocked the sugar bowl to the floor. He turned to face her then, frowning slightly, as she flushed a brilliant shade of pink and looked away, muttering something meaningless about cleaning up the mess. On the inside she was rejoicing; it was the first time he'd looked at her properly since they'd broken up at Dumbledore's funeral.
"Er, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked.
"Yes, Harry dear? What is it?"
"I was wondering… D'you think I could have some envelopes?"
"Of course, Harry, what sort did you have in mind?"
"Oh, er, those brown ones, I think," he answered distractedly. "No, well, the largest you've got, really."
"Here, will this do? How many d'you need?"
"Er…" He thought carefully for a moment before replying, "About 50, I should think."
"50!" she repeated, eyes widening in shock.
"Sure, Mum, Harry's got to keep up with all his fan mail, hasn't he?" said Fred, walking into the kitchen.
"Just think of all those poor ladies whose days he's brightening by sending them autographed pictures of his little old self," added George, pretending to swoon.
"Guys…" he said, embarrassed. Quickly Harry took the stack of envelopes and left, shaking his head at the twins' antics. He retreated to his room, where the lock turned and the silencing charms went up once again.
* * * * *
As the summer wore on, Harry's appearance worsened steadily: His hair became more tangled, his face was drawn and grey, and his once-sparkling emerald eyes seemed to be missing their old love of life. Hermione was getting terribly worried about him, and could often be heard talking to Mrs. Weasley in frantic whispers about what might be wrong with him. Invariably, Mrs. Weasley would soothe her with the idea that Harry was young and desperately in love, and staying up until all hours of the night to wait for replies from his beloved.
One night, as they ate supper in the garden as they usually did, Ron finally broached the subject, urged on by frequent hisses from Hermione.
"So, Harry, mate, er, who've you been writing to all this time?" he asked uncomfortably. "We've hardly seen you this summer."
"Oh, just a few people here and there. Nobody important, really," he said airily, "it's only-"
"Harry, we're worried about you!" interjected Hermione. "Can't you just tell us what you've been up to?"
Something flared in his eyes for just a moment, longing perhaps, and died almost too fast for them to see. It was replaced by a weary resignation as his lips thinned, tension etched into every line of his still form.
"Hermione, I appreciate that you’re concerned for me," he said quietly, "but it's really none of your business."
Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close as she stared at the ground, downcast. "Harry, you know we're here for you, right? If there's anything you need to talk about, mate, we can help you…" he trailed off, waiting apprehensively for Harry's reaction.
"I know, mate, but it's really nothing," he said, running a hand through his hair tiredly. "I just haven't been getting enough sleep, I think. If you don't mind, I'll be going up to bed now."
He excused himself and left without a backward glance, knowing that his two best friends were discussing him in desperate whispers.
* * * * *
It was near dawn a week later, and Hermione and the Weasleys were gathered in the dark kitchen. They had been there for most of the night; the peace was disturbed at intervals by horrible, blood-curdling screams and a terrible smell of ash and sulphur mixed in the breeze drifting through the open windows. Unable to sleep they had come together by common consent, none but one willing to be alone with their unnamed fears.
Harry would not be persuaded to join them, but they could hear his heavy steps pacing 'round and 'round his room. As they'd tiptoed carefully past his door on their way downstairs they'd heard him muttering to himself; senseless words too low for them to understand.
As the stars began to wink out and the first rays of sunlight were seen, there came the biggest explosion any of them had ever heard. They stared out the windows, transfixed, as the distant sky turned a blazing, emerald green and a black cloud spread darkly across the horizon. Behind them they heard footsteps crashing down the stairs, and turned just in time to see Harry hurtle into the kitchen, looking about wildly.
Eyes glittering feverishly, he dashed across the room to Ginny, crushing his lips to hers before she could object. They stood locked in their passionate embrace for what felt like ages, breaking apart only once the twins had recovered sufficiently from the shock to whistle at them.
"Harry, what-" she gasped breathlessly.
"It's over, Gin, we're free, I've done it. Oh! It's over!" he said in a rush; and promptly fainted.
* * * * *
He came to in the stark whiteness of a room at St Mungo's, surrounded by the Weasleys and half the Order. Hermione flung herself on him as soon as he'd opened his eyes. "Oh, Harry!"
"Good to see you too, 'Mione. Here, help me sit up a bit," he said, laughing.
"Gave us all a scare, you did," came Kingsley's deep voice. "What did you do, wearing yourself out like that, Potter?"
He grinned. "You all remember that explosion this morning? Well, I guess it was this morning - how long was I out?"
"Yeah, this morning. You weren't out long, mate, but the Healers said you've almost exhausted your magic," said Ron, the question evident in his voice.
"Right, well, that explosion was Voldemort and all his Death Eaters being destroyed once and for all," Harry said proudly.
"WHAT?!" An excited babble broke out in the room, as everyone tried to make themselves heard at once.
"Harry, dear, how did you ever do it?" cried Mrs Weasley.
He looked around conspiratorially, eyes sparkling. "All those envelopes you gave me? A few AKs, and I sent them off to dear old Tom and his pals," he said, grinning impishly. "Snape let me know where they were and how to get my, er, letters through the wards, and, well, you know the rest," he concluded modestly.
"It can't have been that easy, can it, Harry? I mean, really-"
"You're right, 'Mione - It wasn't!"
They laughed happily; Harry's good humour was infectious.
"Wait, all the Death Eaters? Does that mean you got the greasy git, too?" asked Ron excitedly.
"Ronald!"
"An admirable sentiment, Mr. Weasley, though I regret I must inform you that I am, in fact, very much alive," came the cold, baritone drawl from the doorway where Snape stood, looking highly discomfited at being part of the gathering.
"Uncle Sev! Oh, don't ask," he added quickly, waving aside the shocked exclamations. "It's a long story."
"Congratulations, you foolish boy," Snape said fondly, ruffling Harry's messy locks. "You did it."
"You doubted I would?" he asked, pretending to be hurt. "You know how long I've been planning this. All that hate mail I've gotten," he explained, turning to the others, "put the idea into my head."
"Er, what?"
He smirked. "A mail-order curse! Okay, so I had to do it myself… but you get the idea."
Eyes shining, Ginny leaned over and kissed him fiercely. "I love you, Harry Potter."
"Gin?" He waved his hand at the clothes lying over the chair, and a small box flew into his hand.
"Yeah?"
"Marry me," he said, flipping open the lid. "Now Voldemort's gone, there's no reason we can't-"
"Shut up, Harry," she said, and kissed him again as he slid the diamond onto her finger.
"Isn't that sweet…"
"…our wee Harry…"
"…is all grown up!" chorused the twins, grinning.
Harry looked around; even Snape was smiling, a rare thing, showing his approval.
"Alright, show's over. Can I get out of here yet?!"
* * * * *
The headline of the next day's Daily Prophet was screaming for the arrest of…
"'…an unknown person or persons, for very inappropriate use of the owl mailing system, and of several Unforgivable Curses,' said Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge early yesterday morning. Minister Fudge denied reports that the Dark Mark was seen over the site of the explosion in Little Hangleton, and warns the public to be on the lookout for You-Know-Who and his followers. A source close to the Ministry confirmed rumours that the bodies were burnt and tortured beyond recognition. These bodies are rumoured to be those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Death Eaters; no one has yet commented on this. You-Know-Who was…
"Well, it's the usual drivel after that," said Harry, folding the paper he'd been reading from.
"And they don't know who did it?" grinned Hermione.
"D'you think we should tell them?" asked Ron, smirking.
Ginny just smiled up at him, squeezing his hand lightly.
"Nah," said Harry, fighting to keep a straight face, "I don't think we will."
"Don't worry about it, dear," said Mrs. Weasley absently, bustling around the kitchen. "I'm sure they'll figure it out, some day."
They burst out laughing as Harry threw the paper in the bin before they all began to help Mrs. Weasley with breakfast.